They made their way to a less frantic part of the kitchen, where large trays covered the stainless steel work tables. The pastry chefs were busy with bags of fillings: chocolate, vanilla, and various pastel colors Paul couldn’t begin to guess the flavor of. Others held knives and were rendering strawberries into flowers or sculpting roses and orchids out of colored icing.
One chef placed a tray of small brown baskets on one of the tables, and when he looked closer, Paul realized the baskets were made of layers of flakey pastry. The chef filled the baskets with whipped cream, while another chef followed along behind him, garnishing the cream with the frosting flowers.
“Do you get it now?” Devin asked. “When they’re done, it will be hard to distinguish the edible flowers from real ones. But that’s not even the best part. The head pastry chef, Marco Santos, is a wizard with chocolate and fondant. He’s making a cake that’s an exact replica of thePearlcomplete with tiny guests and crew.”
Paul watched the pastry chefs, fascinated by how detailed and beautiful their work was. His experience with pastries was limited to the neighborhood bakery, and they never had anything he’d consider as artistic as these baskets. “How can anyone stand to cut it?”
“You’d be surprised how quickly the buffet will be demolished, since it all tastes as good as it looks.” Devin pointed out other chefs who were pouring molten colored sugar into molds, and one who was painstakingly piping hundreds of tiny rosebuds onto a sheet cake. The air was full of sweet scents that could have been cloying if it weren’t for the added tang of citrus fruit.
They continued through the kitchen and spent some time watching the chefs working on vegetable trays, their own creations just as impressive as those of the bakers. There were also savories, and while the sandwiches and meat pasties weren’t quite as artistic as the sweets, they were impressive in the sheer number and variety.
Paul wasn’t aware of how much time had passed until the chefs started carrying the trays toward the dining room. Devin led him out of the kitchen, and they watched the buffet being constructed. At one end stood the massive chocolate fountain and at the other an equally huge one for champagne, which was made almost entirely of crystal that cast rainbows on the ceiling and walls wherever the light struck it.
The last thing added was the cake Devin had promised, which was almost six feet long and two feet high. It was incredibly detailed, and the chef had even reproduced the pool sculpture in chocolate.
“What do you think?” Devin asked as the finishing touches were being put in place. The chefs were standing back to critique their own work, making finicky adjustments to get everything as perfect as possible.
“It’s amazing,” Paul said, moving closer so he could get a better look at the details. He had a brief impulse to snatch up the chocolate sculpture and bite its head off, but then he’d have to explain why he didn’t like the statue in the pool.
Instead, he complimented the chefs on their hard work and artistry and asked them to share his praise with the rest of the kitchen staff. He was pleased to know so many Triton employees took such pride and care in their work, and when he took over, he planned to make sure they knew the company appreciated their efforts.
“I couldn’t be the one to make the first cut,” he said when he returned to Devin. Then his stomach let out a loud growl, and he smiled sheepishly. “My stomach disagrees, however.”
Devin chuckled. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to.” He glanced at his watch. “If you want to take any pictures, you should do it before they let the guests in. It will be a madhouse when those doors open.”
“Good idea.” Paul drew his smartphone out of his pocket and made a slow circle of the table, taking photos from different angles of all the dishes that were set out, and he took several close-up shots of the cake, zooming in to capture details like the pool and the metallic-looking rails. When he’d gotten as many pictures as he wanted, he tucked his phone away and went back to Devin. “This means we get to sample, right?” He was joking, but if anyone so much as hinted he could snag a shrimp early, he would take them up on it.
Devin’s expression was pure mischief. “Let me see what I can do.”
He left Paul standing against the wall and approached one of the chefs, who was adjusting a tray of seafood, apparently not pleased with the balance between the shrimp, scallops, and crab puffs. Devin murmured something in the chef’s ear, and the man looked up at Devin, eyes wide with surprise. Then he glanced at Paul before returning his attention to Devin. A few more words were exchanged, and then the chef removed some items from the tray and piled them on a small plate, which he then passed to Devin. Devin returned to Paul’s side and handed him the plate with a small bow.
“I hope this will help you survive until the buffet opens,” Devin drawled.
“I’m in your debt,” Paul said as he eyed the little seafood sampler. The chef had been generous enough to give him two each of the shrimp, scallops, and crab puffs, and he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to try first. Finally, he decided to start with the crab, thinking it would be his least favorite of the three, but the delicate pastry and exquisite seasoning made him reconsider. “Mm…. So good.”
Devin’s eyes widened as he watched Paul eat, and then he glanced away. Paul thought there might be a hint of a blush on Devin’s cheeks. “I’m glad you like them.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Paul said as he polished off the scallops next. “I’m glad the ship serves food this good, but I’m afraid it means I’m going to weigh ten or twenty pounds more by the time the cruise is over.”
“You just have to walk a lot. Either up on the Promenade deck or while we’re in port.” Devin glanced back at Paul, looking him over slowly from his feet upward until he met Paul’s eyes. “You look great, you know. Being the height we are, ten pounds doesn’t show all that much.”
“Thanks.” Paul tried to ignore the pleasure that squirmed in the pit of his stomach at Devin’s frank appraisal. “I haven’t gotten back into the things I used to do before the accident, but I do hit the gym regularly.”
“Whatever you’re doing, it works,” Devin replied. He seemed about to say something else, but the maître d’ stepped forward, clapping his hands and shooing the chefs back into the kitchen.
“Time!” he called out, and the waiters who had been stationed at the big double entrance doors opened them, letting in the passengers.
It seemed like almost everyone on the ship tried to crowd into the dining room, and there were flashes as dozens of cameras snapped photos of the buffet. The staff had put up a series of posts and plush ropes to keep the crowd from getting too close or sampling before the photograph taking was done. As soon as the maître d’ welcomed everyone and the ropes were moved, the crowd swarmed the buffet like a school of piranha. Paul’s reluctance to disturb the display wasn’t shared by many of the passengers, and in short order the cake ship was missing its bow, and slices were carved out of the pool area.
“If you want more, you’d better get in line,” Devin told him. “In thirty minutes, there won’t be much left except celery sticks and crumbs.”
“What about you?” Paul asked, reluctant to partake of the buffet without Devin. “I don’t want to be rude and eat in front of you.” He glanced down at the now-empty sampler plate. “Snacking doesn’t count.”
Devin took the plate from Paul and put it on a bus table close by. Then he clasped Paul’s hand and pulled him toward the line. “Come on, then, we might as well sin together, right?”
Paul’s imagination betrayed him with images of ways he and Devin could sin together that didn’t involve food, and he found himself tightening his fingers around Devin’s hand just to enjoy the warmth of skin to skin contact.
“Right,” he said huskily.
